When The Sky Falls
by lokilette
Summary: Regulus intended to stop the Dark Lord himself, but for some reason he's driven to share his discovery with his brother - a choice that saves his life. He'll have to live with the consequences of that decision and the knowledge that Sirius' problems have now become his own. What he didn't expect was being stuck raising his brother's godson. Rated T for swearing. AU.
1. 1979 - 1981

**[1979]**

The sky was falling, flaking away in chunks that caused ripples when they hit the water. So this was how it ended—cold and alone in the dark with the world collapsing around me. Not exactly what I'd expected, but not particularly surprising, either.

I was weightless, floating in a vacuum, even though I was vaguely aware of the hands that were pulling me into the depths. This was my reward for challenging the status quo, for thinking that maybe, just this once, I could do something that would make a difference. Should've known better. For eighteen years, I had simply done what was expected of me. Foolish to fight it now. What was I thinking?

Above me flashed a beautiful white light—the sort Heaven was made of, so it seemed fitting that I was drifting away from it. The hands that bound me fled, leaving me to sink towards the void with nothing to hold me up, weighed down by my regrets.

The last thing I knew was the splash of something hitting the water—the sky, it must have been, as it fell. Nothingness rose up to claim me, and I embraced it, too tired to fight, drifting willingly into the unknown.

 **...(X)...**

" _Are you sure? This is a pretty big...I mean, if you're wrong...You have to be positive." Sirius knitted his eyebrows and stared at me as if I might crack under the imaginary pressure. That hadn't worked since we were small boys, when I was too young to know any better, and I didn't appreciate it now._

" _Would I be here if I wasn't?"_

 _In all honesty, I still wasn't sure exactly where "here" was, but it almost made me regret my decision to go to Sirius in the first place. It was some filthy Muggle establishment, and that alone was enough to turn my stomach, never mind the reek of cheap booze and elicit substances. No one would even imagine to look for a Black here, so in that, at least, it served its purpose._

" _No, I guess not. But a horcrux? Bloody hell, Reggie. That's not the sort of business to get mixed up in."_

" _Like I've never heard that before." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I took a swig of what the Muggle bartender had called whiskey. It wasn't as strong as Firewhiskey, but my wound nerves were already relaxing, so I suffered through it._

" _I wasn't wrong then, either, now was I?"_

 _Sirius quirked his eyebrows expectantly, but I averted my gaze. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? Like he was some damn saint. Like his choices were any better, what with how he got caught up with that idiot Potter and his Mudblood girlfriend. That sure did him a lot of good, didn't it? He was thinner now, more pale, and had an ever-persistent tick that caused him to jump at loud noises like each one might be a Death Eater in waiting. Sure, he was the epitome of good choices._

" _Listen, I didn't come here for a lecture, so if that's all you've got to say, I might as well be on my way."_

 _The chair screeched as I pushed back from the table, groaning as I stood, but Sirius shook his head and motioned for me to sit._

" _No. Stay."_

 _I shifted my weight between my legs, teetering on indecision. What was it that had possessed me to approach my brother anyway? The plan had been to simply steal the locket of my own accord, quietly, in such a way that no one would know. So why was I even wasting my time on this?_

 _With a sigh, I pulled the chair back to the table and took a seat. Ultimately, I had to tell_ someone _, because if something should happen...if I should fail...I shook my head to displace that line of thinking. Now was no time to have doubts._

" _If what you say is true, then that means..." Sirius began._

" _Voldemort can't be killed," I interrupted. "Not so long as that horcrux exists. And who's to say there's not more?"_

" _More? Splitting your soul more than once...but that's ludicrous!"_

 _Sirius slammed his hand on the table, drawing curious stares and annoyed leers from across the bar. It served as a reminder that we had to keep our voices down and remain discreet. This wasn't exactly something that should be overheard, regardless of whether these folks were simple Muggles or not._

" _And what if it's true?" Sirius continued, leaning closer so he could whisper over the table. "What if there are more of them?"_

" _Then we have to find them—all of them—and destroy them. It's the only way."_

" _It's madness." Sirius heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, stroking the stubble that lined his face. After a few minutes of silent reflection, he said, "I'll have to take this back to the Order, you know."_

" _Do whatever you want. I didn't come here for your help."_

" _You can't still hope to do this on your own. It's madness, Reggie! If you'll just wait, I can tell Albus..."_

" _Albus?!" I scoffed as I threw an arm over the back of my chair and crossed my legs. "That old fool is either senile or incompetent. Or both. If he had the ability to stop Voldemort, he would've done it by now. He's nothing but a washed-up, old wizard. I honestly don't see why you follow him."_

" _Because at least I realize that I can't do everything on my own."_

 _Our eyes met, and I saw a flash of the old Sirius in his gray irises. It had been a long time since I'd seen that sort of passion in my brother, even if it was foolish and misplaced. It wasn't like I hadn't known that he would try to talk me out of it. In his eyes, I would always be the younger brother in need of protection, but that wasn't why I had come._

" _Please, Reggie, don't do anything foolish. Just wait. You've come this far, haven't you? What's another couple of days? We'll figure out a plan or something. We can do it together. Just...wait. Okay?"_

" _Sure, Sirius. I'll wait."_

 _There was an understanding between us; I could see it in his face. I said what my older brother wanted to hear, but even Sirius could tell that I didn't mean a word of it._

 **...(X)...**

As I regained consciousness, I was greeted by darkness...and then pain. I had half-hoped I'd had the good fortune of dying already, but the agonizing ache that flared in every muscle of my body suggested otherwise. Just perfect. My lungs and chest burned with every breath, and there was a full percussion ensemble that had taken up residence in my skull, keeping time with my pulse.

Even though it was against my better judgment, I tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of pain wracked my body. An unwitting groan slipped out as I fell back, laying as still as I could and waiting for the episode to pass.

"Don't move. I have no idea what the hell that curse was, but it's a nasty one. The Inferi did quite a number on you, too." There was a pause and then a sharp, "Idiot."

The voice was familiar, even though it took a second to place it. Everything sounded muffled and distant. Water on the ears, probably. The least of my worries. Still, deciphering the noise took some effort.

"Sirius?" I managed to choke out, despite my thick tongue causing me to stumble over the word like a clumsy drunk. Everything was still rocking but was beginning to steady, at least, as I looked up into gray eyes.

"Of course. Who else would be foolish enough to go after you?"

"But...how..." I tried to crank my sluggish brain into high gear, but my body didn't seem to want to cooperate.

"Kreacher told me, after a bit of persuasion on my part. Might just be the first thing that sorry excuse for a House-Elf ever did right."

"You're...far too hard...on him."

Speaking was getting easier over time, and the pain was beginning to fade to a constant ache. I could tolerate that, at least.

"Why in the world didn't you wait? I _told_ you to wait. If you had given me some time, the Order—"

"The Order! That's all I ever hear coming out of your mouth." I gritted my teeth and, despite my body's protests, forced myself to sit, using the arm of the couch as a prop. "Regardless of what's happened, whatever you think, I am _not_ a part of the Order, and I never will be. Bunch of disgusting Muggle-lovers. I'm so much better than that. You are, too, but you seem to have forgotten."

I wasn't sure what was worse, the way he slowly shook his head or the way his eyes glossed over with disappointment. He was growing weary of these arguments. He wasn't the only one.

"You could have died. _Died._ Don't you get that? Damn it, Reggie, why can't you understand?"

Could have died. Would have died, if not for him. Should have died, perhaps. What was it they said? You can't cheat death. Not for long, anyway. Death always catches up to you in the end.

I swung my feet over the edge of the couch, steadying myself as the room swayed with the sudden movement, and shoved him out of the way. I couldn't stand how he was looking at me. As much as my body ached, his eyes seemed to imply that he hurt worse, and it was my fault.

"I'm not a bloody child," I snapped.

"You're right, you're not, so I wish you'd stop acting like one."

Even though I knew I wasn't ready, I forced myself to stand, and my legs wobbled under the weight. Sirius started to reach out, but he hesitated, eventually dropping his hand back into his lap. It was the same as it always was; nothing had changed. Just half-assed attempts that always led to the conclusion that we were too different. Maybe that would never change.

I staggered over to the small sink in the corner of the room, forcing one faltering step after another. The place was foreign to me, but I figured it must have been Sirius' apartment. It was decorated with a layer of dust and piles of discarded clothes with an occasional piece of trash—empty bottles here, a random parchment there, old newspapers that had been used for Merlin knows what. How far he had fallen from the Black he used to be.

I placed my hands on either side of the basin to steady myself as I glanced into the mirror. I was met with dark eyes sunken into a pale face, contrasted by tangles of black hair. Guess I'd seen better days, huh?

A splash of water would do me good. I reached a shaking hand for the faucet, but I stopped short. I could still feel it around me, pulling me down, filtering into my lungs—cold, endless, inescapable. I thought better of it and turned away from the basin.

"So...what now?" I asked, pressing my back against the porcelain.

"He'll come for you, I'm sure of that." Sirius stood as he spoke, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his pants and hunching his shoulders. "You know too much. There's no way You-Know-Wh—"

"Don't. Don't do that. We're not schoolboys, Sirius. I'm not afraid of a name, and neither should you be."

"Fine." With a sigh, Sirius shrugged, holding his hands palms-up in defeat. "Voldemort will hunt you down and finish the job. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Let's not think of it now. Why don't you just stay here a while?"

"Here? You mean in this hovel?" I kicked at a pile of clothes to illustrate my point. Much to my dismay, a bug scurried out the other side. Surely he was joking. The mere thought of it was ludicrous.

"It's no mansion, I admit, but I-I'll clean." With a slight redness creeping into his cheeks, he scooped up the clothes and threw them in a bin. He drew his wand and sent the rest of the junk into its respective corners, which succeeded in exposing more floor space, perhaps, but it certainly didn't make the place any less of a dump.

"It's not forever," Sirius said, turning back to me as he slipped his wand into his shirt. "Just...a week. Give it a week, see what happens. I'll bring you things, whatever it is you need. For now, only you and I know what truly happened in that cave. Hell, even I'm not entirely sure what really happened. If we're lucky..."

"You mean, he thinks I'm dead?"

"Wouldn't you? It's clear that that's what he intended, and I doubt he's used to failing. I'm sure the thought never even crosses his mind."

No, failure wasn't an option where the Dark Lord was concerned—not for him, and not for his subordinates, either. I had learned that on numerous occasions first-hand. If he had even an inkling that perhaps his plan hadn't succeeded, there was no doubt in my mind that he would rectify the situation. I sure as hell didn't intend to let that happen. But where else would I go? Sirius was right; I had no choice but to stay.

"One week. Just one. I don't want to spend a minute longer than I have to in this sorry excuse for a flat. Honestly, I don't know how you do it."

"Just...don't go anywhere. And don't do anything. For real this time, got it?" Sirius grabbed his coat and slung it around his shoulders as he spoke. "I'm going to go talk with the...Well, I have a few things to do." He paused by the door and swept his eyes over me, starting at my feet and ending by meeting my gaze. "You sure you'll be all right here, Reggie?"

"It's Regulus, and I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

"That's right, of course you can." Sirius sighed as he opened the door, pausing with it half open to scrutinize me one last time. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"Just send Kreacher when you get a chance. He'll take care of it."

"I don't think that's a good idea. He'll be looking for you, and if he gets his hands on that good-for-nothing House-Elf..."

"Then Kreacher will take my secret to the grave, I'm sure of it. Send him along."

For a moment, he looked like he would argue, but he slowly closed his mouth and set his jaw as he nodded to show he understood. With a soft click, he closed the door behind him.

What was I supposed to do now? This place was such a vast difference from the manor. I could pace the whole entirety of it in a minute. The belongings were sparse and uninteresting. Grunting, I collapsed onto the couch, throwing an arm over my eyes to block out the light. Might as well nap. What a dull week it was bound to be.

I must have dozed off despite the lumpy, rundown cushions because the next thing I knew I was waking to the loud _pop_ of someone Apparating into the room. Through the haze that lingered from sleep, I fumbled for my wand and managed to turn it on the intruder.

"Master...is alive?"

I lowered my wand at the scratchy, old voice and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as I sat up the rest of the way.

"Oh, it's just you, Kreacher," I said as I stretched, the final words distorted by a yawn.

"Master is well. Kreacher is pleased." He smiled, or the closest thing to a smile it was possible for him to get. It may have resembled a grimace, but the intent was there. In an instant it was gone, and he was suddenly tugging at his ears. "But Kreacher is bad Elf, told blood-traitor Master's secrets. Kreacher must be punished."

With a wail, he fell to his knees, wrapping his bony fingers around his bowed head. They were red and swollen with makeshift bandages barely covering the obvious heat blisters. He must have already taken the disciplining upon himself. With an iron no less, it looked like. Foolish old House-Elf. He shouldn't have bothered.

"Stand up, Kreacher. There was no need for punishment. You've done fine. Saved my life, actually. Just don't make a habit of going against my will. I'll let it slide this once, but I won't be so forgiving again. Secrets are secret for a reason."

"Good Master, kind Master. So forgiving. Master is too good to Kreacher."

As ornery as he was at times, he was a reliable House-Elf. More than that, if he hadn't had the gumption to go against my wishes, I'd be dead. In a strange way, I owed him my life, yet here he was, begging for my forgiveness.

"I'll be needing some things, Kreacher, but you mustn't let anyone see you take them. No one can know that I'm here. Can you do this for me?"

"Yes, Master. Kreacher won't fail Master again."

Funny how the only two people in the world who were allowed to know I was still alive were a blood-traitor, whose only success in life thus far was getting burned off the family tree, and a House-Elf, who was little more than a slave in the eyes of the Wizarding world. What was my life coming to?

 **...(X)...**

The week was drawing to a close, and I was more than eager to leave this pitiful prison. There was a glimmer of light at the end of an otherwise abysmal tunnel, and I was nearly there. Where I'd go from here was anyone's guess. I had no plans at all, no inkling of what the future would hold. All I knew was that Voldemort had to be stopped, and I was probably the person closest to figuring out how.

There was a _crack_ as someone Apparated into the other room, and I started out of my thoughts. I grabbed the _Daily Prophet_ that had sat forgotten beside me all morning and leafed idly through it, pretending to be busy.

"So how was it?" I asked without looking up as Sirius entered the room. He tossed his outer robe over a chair with a sigh and ran a hand through his shaggy, unkempt hair.

"Was a right proper funeral, I suppose. All the people you'd expect were there. The eulogies were lovely. You'll be happy to know that you'll be missed."

Missed? The concept alone was laughable. As much as I had changed in the past few months, what did any of them know of who I was? Hell, _I_ wasn't even sure who I was. What they would miss is the promising young Death Eater, but I couldn't be that person anymore.

"The decorations were rather impressive, though," he added. "Spared no expense, apparently. Green and silver. You would've liked it."

"Bit tacky to show up at one's own funeral, though, I imagine."

"I guess you're right." He came around the couch and glanced at my paper, raising his eyebrows as he smirked. "Reading the classifieds? Don't you think it's a bit soon? I mean, you're only freshly dead, after all."

I shook the paper and looked more carefully at what I was supposed to be reading. He was right, damn him. I had been too distracted to even notice what I had grabbed.

"And Mother and Father?" I asked, setting the paper aside and scratching at the mark on my forearm absentmindedly.

"Kept up appearances well, of course, but I suppose they're coping as well as anyone who's lost their favorite son," he said as he walked into the kitchen.

The bitterness in his tone wasn't lost on me. It was a sore subject, of course, seeing as how he'd wasted no time in falling out of Mother and Father's favor years ago.

"I still think you're an idiot for even attempting to sneak in, and it's a wonder you weren't caught."

"I have my ways," he said as he pulled the fridge open and stuck his head inside. I couldn't even begin to guess what he was looking for. As far as I could tell, it was always empty, save for the occasional rotten remains of what once was food.

He pulled out the last bottle of Firewhiskey and shut the door with his hip, opening the lid on the edge of the kitchen table as he passed.

"So what are you going to do, now that you're officially dead?" he asked as he plopped into an understuffed beanbag, which coughed out some of its stuffing.

"Go into hiding, I suppose, until I decide something more long term."

I'd had a week now to plan my next steps, but I had nothing. There was no way I could return to the manor and no way to send word to Mother and Father. It would only endanger them, and I refused to drag them into this mess I'd managed to make for myself. One fact remained through it all—I would not forgive Voldemort for his attempted murder. It seemed I had plenty of free time on my hands now, time that I could devote to studying. One way or another, though I wasn't sure how, Voldemort would fall. I would see to that.

 **...(X)...**

 **[1981]**

Someone was knocking. Save for Kreacher, I hadn't had a visitor in quite some time now that Sirius was in pseudo-hiding himself. I debated letting it pass, but the knocking continued, growing more insistent.

"Go away," I said loud enough for them to hear as I turned the page on the Dark Arts book I was reading. After a year and a half of searching, I didn't feel any closer to a solution than when I had begun.

"Reggie, it's me. Open the damn door."

There was no mistaking that voice, even if I hadn't heard it in a while, so I put my book aside and did as I was told. He darted in, and after checking to be sure he wasn't followed, I closed the door quietly.

He'd certainly seen better days. It seemed the war had taken a toll on him, more so than I could have imagined. His hair was long, soiled, and tangled like it hadn't been brushed in a while. He had a haggard-looking beard starting to sprout, but even through that I could tell he was getting thin.

"What the hell happened to you?" I asked as he paced the length of room, mumbling to himself and occasionally ceasing his ramblings long enough to chew an already worn nail. "It looks like you've gone a round with a chimaera—and lost. Pitifully."

"They're dead, Reggie. Dead! He killed them, that bastard!"

His words sounded almost like a growl, and he looked very much like a feral animal. His eyes flitted around the room, but I doubted whether he actually saw any of it. His mind was elsewhere.

"Who's dead, Sirius?"

"James." He choked back a sob, allowing a single pitiful whine to slip through. "And Lily. The Potters. He...he killed them both. Then Harry...Harry..."

Sirius started as if he was just waking up from a dream. His jacket was wadded up in the crook of his elbow, and it began to squirm as he shifted it to his other arm. I was afraid to ask. He clearly wasn't in his right mind, and I had no doubt that I was thirty seconds away from being dragged into whatever idiotic revenge scheme he'd worked up. Whatever it was, I wanted no part in it.

"I need you to take him," he said, holding out his jacket.

"Him?"

He pulled the cloth down slightly to reveal a round, pudgy face stained with debris and stale blood. One tired green eye opened, regarded me lazily, and then closed again.

"Have you lost your mind?" I hissed, doing my best to keep my voice low. The last thing I needed was to have to deal with a screaming brat.

"He tried to kill him. I mean, Voldemort tried to kill Harry, but...something went wrong. I dunno, Reggie. The house was destroyed, and Voldemort was gone. He's fallen, they say. Destroyed with everything else, I suppose, but Harry...I'm all he has left. I'm his godfather. It's my job to protect him, and I _will_."

"Wait, wait, back up." I must have heard him wrong. My head was swimming trying to keep up with his disjointed thoughts. A _baby_ killed Voldemort. An infant? But why? How? None of it made any sense. "Voldemort is..."

"Gone. For good, they say, but you and I know better. He'll come back, and when he does, he'll want to finish what he started."

"So, uh, what does this have to do with me?"

"I need you to take him."

I immediately crossed my arms and shook my head as I took several steps backwards.

"Uh-uh. You're not sticking me with that _thing._ What do I know about babies?"

Nothing. That was the appropriate answer. What's more, I didn't care to know anything, either. I had always imagined that one day I would be forced to marry and settle down like a proper Pureblood, carry on the Black legacy, but not at twenty, and certainly not with some mongrel infant whose parents didn't have enough sense to not get themselves killed.

"You _have_ to take him, Reggie. Just for a little while. I promise I'll be back before long."

He was practically begging. I had never heard my brother beg before. Not through the beatings or the scoldings or the punishments. Everything, everything that life had thrown at him, he'd taken in stride.

"But...why me?"

"Because you're the only person I trust with this. No one will think to look for you. No one even knows you're alive. I'm the only family he's got, which makes him your family, too, whether you like it or not. I don't know who the hell I can trust anymore, Reggie, but I trust you. Despite our differences, I know you wouldn't let any harm come to a helpless baby."

It was true that we didn't always get along, but he _was_ my brother, and I did still owe him for saving my life. More than that, he had a fire in his eyes and a shadow that I had never seen there before: bloodlust. Whatever had happened, he wasn't the Sirius I knew. He was desperate, broken, frightened, and, in his own way, downright scary.

"A few hours won't hurt, I suppose." I sighed as I held out my arms. The relief that flashed in his face made me guilty; even still, I had my reservations about doing this favor, but that wasn't the way it was supposed to be, was it? Somewhere down the line, it seemed like we had forgotten how to act like a family.

"Be safe, Harry," Sirius whispered as he handed the baby over, patting his head one last time.

The baby was heavier than he looked. Then again, it wasn't like I had much experience with the things. What did I know? He grunted with the initial movement, but then settled back to sleep in my arms. If I was lucky, he'd stay like that until Sirius returned, and I could wash my hands of the situation.

"Don't trust anyone. Don't open the door to anyone. You'll know it's me because I'll use the codeword locket. Got it?"

"I'm not dense. I've got it."

Sirius patted me on the shoulder a few times, and then he paused. I couldn't tell if he was waiting for me to ask the question or not, so I asked it anyway.

"Where are you off to, Sirius?"

"I know who did it." His voice was so low that I had to strain to hear, and he turned away to face the door as he spoke. "They trusted him, and he betrayed them, the rat bastard. It's his fault they're dead. I'll find him. I won't let him get away with what he's done."

I wanted to ask the next obvious question that was burning in my mind: _what will you do if you find him?_ But I let it go. I doubted I'd much like the answer, and I had an inkling that even he didn't know.

"Just sit tight. I'll be back."

He stopped at the door and looked back like he wanted to say something. Ultimately, he must have decided against it, because he disappeared out into the hallway without a word. Wasn't that always the way? I had never even thanked him for coming after me that night—stubbornly, as unwanted as his help was—and saving my life. Maybe we weren't as different as I liked to think.

I believed him. Merlin knew why, but I did. It wasn't like I was exactly going anywhere anyway.

Resigned to my fate, I plopped down on the couch with the baby in my arms, hoping against hope that he wouldn't wake. I had no idea what to do with a screaming infant, and I wasn't particularly keen to find out.

But one hour turned to two, and then to a few, and a few hours eventually dawned into morning. Still, I waited patiently. By midday, I realized Sirius had lied; he wasn't coming back.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Written for the Tri-Wizard Tournament in the Hogwarts Houses Challenge. The prompt scenario was what if Regulus told Sirius about the horcruxes? How would that change Harry's life? This will be in three parts, 5k words each. Reviews are very much appreciated, constructive criticism especially. :)

 **EDIT:** Decided to expand this past the three original chapters, so now there should be approximately a chapter for each year. :3

 **Prompts:**

\- What if Regulus told Sirius about the horcruxes?

\- (character) Sirius Black


	2. 1981

**[1981]**

"Kreacher!"

Where was that bloody House-Elf? At least fifteen minutes had passed since I sent him for milk and baby food. How long could it possibly take? In the meantime, the brat's wails had crescendoed to something akin to a banshee. I held him at arm's length as he flailed, face turning an impressive crimson color and snot starting to creep from his nose. Disgusting. I still couldn't believe I had been stupid enough to get saddled with him in the first place. Where the hell was Sirius anyway?

A small _pop_ announced Kreacher's arrival. Finally! His arms were laden with a variety of things, and he struggled to keep them from falling all over the floor.

"What is all this stuff?"

"Milk, just like Master wanted," Kreacher answered, shifting the clothes in his arms to reveal the jug. "And food and nappies and clothes."

"Where did you get these?" I asked, holding one of the garments up. With the way it looked—snaps and buttons all over the place—you almost would need to be a scientist to figure out how it was supposed to work.

"They were Master's when Master was a baby."

My baby clothes! I never would have thought for a moment that any of them would have been left in the old manor. Thank Merlin for Kreacher and his quick thinking.

He set the pile on the table, and I gladly passed the baby to him so I could dig through them. Old bottles, cloth nappies, dated and slightly worn clothes, and even a few colorful toys. None of it would be missed, judging by the amount of dust they had managed to collect, likely shoved to some long-forgotten nook of the manor.

"It's all well and good that we've got the supplies, but I still haven't even the faintest idea of what to do with them. Isn't there some book or something that tells you what to do with these things?" I asked, motioning towards the baby.

"No books, no manuals. Just trial and error," he said as he placed the wailing infant on his hip, freeing up a hand to pour some milk into a bottle. "But this is not the first baby Kreacher has seen. Though, it is the loudest. Ungrateful half-blood offspring."

In-between shrieks, he seized the opportunity to shove the bottle into the baby's mouth, stifling the screams. After a moment, the infant settled down into the crook of the Kreacher's arm, holding the bottle himself as he sucked the milk down contentedly.

I sighed heavily as I rubbed my temples. Silence, however brief it would be. I had nearly forgotten what it was like. For the first time, though, I realized that I wasn't stuck in this situation alone, and I couldn't have been more grateful for the help, even if it did come from a House-Elf.

 **...(X)...**

 _Noise all around me. Shouting. Screaming. Laughing._

 _How did I get here? More importantly, where was I?_

" _Hey, Regulus, don't just stand there." Someone was shaking my shoulder, and I looked back to find Nott grinning behind me. "Go fight. It's what we're here for, isn't it? Well, go on."_

 _Fight? I didn't want to fight. I wasn't a Death Eater anymore. That's what I wanted to say, but of course there was no backing out. There was only death. My feet moved forward of their own volition, and my hand shook as I tightened my grip on my wand._

 _There was screaming all around me. Some people were crying, some begging for their lives. Though I couldn't see him, I heard Voldemort laughing as if this was his own personal theater._

 _Then Sirius was in front of me. His brows were knitted together, and his scowl made him look very much like Father when he was in one of his moods. The only thing I saw in his eyes was hatred, pure and unadulterated. This was not the brother I had known. I had gone too far this time; it was written all over his face._

 _I didn't hear the spell, never even saw him draw his wand, but the ground exploded around me and dust blurred my vision. Then there was another explosion, and then another._

By the fourth knock, I realized I was already awake, staring at the ceiling. I scratched at my forearm where my mark had been dormant for the past several days. I still didn't believe he was truly gone, but it was obvious that something had at least driven Voldemort into hiding.

There were three more sharp raps in quick succession. Who the hell could that be at this hour of the night? I stretched as I sat up and glanced toward the makeshift bed of couch cushions on the floor at my feet. The baby was still sleeping, oblivious to the noise. I threw my blanket over him so he'd be completely shielded from view and grabbed my wand before making my way to the door.

"Who is it?" I asked, standing to the side of the door with my wand at the ready.

"I believe I'm supposed to say something about a locket?" a tired, old voice replied.

I was disappointed. _Why_ was I disappointed? Dumbledore was in charge of the Order, which meant I could turn the baby over to him and wash my hands of the whole situation. True, I had been expecting my brother, but if he saw fit to send Dumbledore instead, then so be it.

I opened the door just long enough to let him in before closing it and recasting all the seals and wards. There was no such thing as being too cautious.

Dumbledore seemed to be studying my living space as he walked through the living room. Probably judging me. Let him. What did I have to prove? True, the furnishings were minimal and it didn't quite live up to my name, but it was a far cry from the dump my brother lived in. At least I still lived in a wizarding town. Even I hadn't stooped low enough to rent from Muggles. I made the best out of what I had, given the circumstances.

I cleared my throat to draw his attention, and when his blue eyes turned to me, I asked, "I suppose you came here for the child?"

"I came for Harry, yes, although I admit I had quite the time tracking you down. You're not easy to find. If Sirius hadn't given me a clue as to your whereabouts, I have no doubt that I would still be looking."

"I'm not supposed to be easy to find. It's what's kept me alive so long, despite the rumors to the contrary." I motioned for him to follow me to the center of the room, where I crouched beside the baby, pulling the blanket back just far enough to expose his sleeping face.

"I have to admit," I whispered so as not to wake him, "I'm surprised that Sirius didn't come himself with how adamant he was about raising him."

Surprised was certainly one word for it. Livid, perhaps, was a better one. I knew he would run off and tell Dumbledore all of the things we talked about like the good little lap dog he was, but to send him here, knowing that I wanted nothing to do with the Order? It was disrespectful, to say the least. I thought we had moved past that, at least, in the past year. Guess I was mistaken.

"Ah, then you haven't heard yet. I suspected as much." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully as he lapsed into silence. There was a faraway look in his eye that I couldn't decipher. I didn't like it, not any of it.

"Heard what?" I asked.

Dumbledore shook his head and motioned towards the sleeping child and then to the kitchen. On that, at least, we could agree. No sense in waking the brat. I let him lead the way, and we each took a seat at opposite ends of the small table.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this, but I find honesty is the best route in matters such as this," he began, setting his hat on the table and removing his outer robes as he settled in. "Sirius has been arrested and is currently on his way to Azkaban."

"What? But...how..."

Nothing could have prepared me for those words. Of all the scenarios that had played through my mind the past few days, I never once dreamed that Azkaban would enter the equation. Certainly not Sirius. He was a screw-up, without a doubt, but he was no criminal.

"For the murder of Peter Pettigrew."

"Impossible. For whatever reason, that dolt was one of his best friends. He would never. Doesn't even have it in him."

"I can't tell you what happened, Regulus. All I can tell you is what I've heard."

I wasn't sure what was more infuriating, his words or the matter-of-fact way that he delivered the news. If he was at all tore up about it, he didn't show it. This was the man Sirius had put his trust and faith in, despite my constant warnings about where his loyalties should lie. He should be outraged. He should be doing...Well, something, even if I didn't know exactly what.

"They say that Sirius was the Potters' secret-keeper, and Peter must have gone after him to confront him." Dumbledore sighed as he spoke, with each word emphasized in a way that suggested he was merely reciting a second-hand story. "There was an explosion. Several Muggles were killed, and all that was found of Peter was his finger. As of now, he's presumed dead."

"It's a lie!"

I was on my feet before I knew what I was doing, and my chair upended with the force, clattering against the floor. I didn't understand it, any of it. Not what Sirius had seen in Potter and that Mudblood, nor why he was so damned determined to risk his life for him, but he had. There was no way he'd betray them. That look on his face when he came to me that night, the bloodlust in his eyes...No, if ever I was sure of anything, I knew my brother was innocent at least when it came to the Potters.

"Regulus, please..." Dumbledore started, but I slammed my palms on the table to drown out whatever bullshit he was about to say. How _dare_ he act so calm and condescending. Couldn't he even pretend to care, just for one second?

"I'm telling you he wouldn't betray them! Not Sirius. My brother was a lot of things, but he was damn loyal. He would have died—died, you hear me?—rather than betray his friends."

He didn't seem shocked at all by my outburst. Instead, he sat there stroking his beard quietly, and in an equally soft voice said, "Yes, I quite agree. Unfortunately, our opinions won't save him. Trust me, I've tried. I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do for him now."

I hated the helplessness that washed over me. What was the point of living, of having cheated death, if the only thing I could do, when it really came down to it, was nothing at all? Why was I even here?

"But...the child." It's all I could think to say, so I stumbled through the words. "Sirius insisted he would raise it."

"Ah yes, Harry. Well, it seems we have quite an interesting dilemma. You see, I had actually intended to send Harry to live with his maternal aunt and uncle. Since it was his mother's love that spared him, I had rather hoped that the blood he shared with her sister would protect him. Unfortunately, given the time that it took to find you, the window of opportunity has now passed, and I'm afraid the spells I intended to use would no longer have the same potency."

"You can't really want to send him to live with _Muggles_?"

Just the thought alone was enough to turn my stomach. If the child really was responsible for the downfall of Voldemort, he should be celebrated, not punished by being exiled to live with those filthy bottom-feeders. There could be no greater insult.

"I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice in the matter." I couldn't decide whether Dumbledore was merely looking at me or if he was sizing me up. Either way, the way those piercing blue eyes seemed to see right through me was unnerving.

"Surely there's some wizarding family who can take him in. You must know somebody."

"I fear you underestimate the toll this war has taken on us all. Everyone has suffered. The Potters are gone. The McKinnons, too, as I'm sure you know. The Longbottoms, sadly, will likely never leave St. Mungo's, and their own son has been sent to live with his grandmother. I can't ask the Prewetts. They've just lost their boys, and their youngest—Molly Weasley now—has her hands quite full already with seven children of her own."

Merlin's beard, not the Weasleys. Despite being pure-bloods, that was really dragging the bottom of the barrel there. It was only a step above the Muggles—just barely. The least I could do for Sirius was find the child a decent home.

"Besides, I am of the opinion that it will do him good to grow up outside the watchful eye of the wizarding world. He will be regarded as a hero one day, but I see no need to burden him with that at such a young age. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose so," I said. Though I hated to admit it, the logic made perfect sense. No child could possibly thrive under that sort of pressure and expectation. "But still, there must be another option."

"It seems to me there is _one_ more option." Dumbledore folded his fingers and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. I knew I wasn't going to like whatever it was he had in mind judging by the expectant way he raised his eyebrows. I had seen it enough times at Hogwarts to know that nothing good ever followed. True to my expectations, he continued, "I suppose, if you were capable in some way of loving someone other than yourself, he could stay here with you."

"Out of the question," I said, almost before he even finished the sentence. I knew nothing about raising babies, nor did I have any interest in it. Besides, a child would just get in the way of my studies. There was still the matter of the horcrux, which Kreacher had squirreled away somewhere safe. I hadn't managed to destroy it yet, but I was certain I would sooner or later. When Voldemort returned—and he would, I was sure of it—then someone had to be prepared to take him on. Might as well be me.

"Then I have no choice but to send him to live with the Dursleys. They have a son about Harry's age. I'm sure he'll be taken care of there, at the very least."

"They're _Muggles_. He's a wizard. He at least deserves to grow up knowing that, knowing his place in the world. Even Sirius would have a fit if he knew where you intended to send him. I can't let you do it. It's unacceptable!"

"Good, then we've settled it." Dumbledore flipped his hat back onto his head and slipped his outer robe off the back of the chair, dangling it over his arm. "He'll stay here, for the time being. Everything you might need to get started is in here. It's the best I could do on such short notice."

He pulled an envelope from his robes and held it out to me. When I didn't immediately take it, he wagged it in my direction, as if that would make me change my mind.

"I don't think you're listening, old man. I don't want him."

"No, I heard you just fine. You refuse to let him live with Muggles, despite the fact that I have nowhere else to take him. Therefore, it is my understanding that the only option is for him to stay here. For now, at least. You've had him for days, and he seems well cared for and healthy to me, despite everything. You have already displayed concern for his well-being. On top of that, I'm also quite impressed with the wards you have on this place. You're a very competent wizard, Regulus. I have no doubt that you'll be able to keep Harry safe."

He shook the envelope again—harder this time, more fervently. My hands shook as I reached for it. Was I really about to do this? What business did I have raising a child? This—every last bit of it—was Sirius' affair, not mine.

All I could hear was Sirius' voice, pleading and desperate, running through my head. _I'm the only family he's got, which makes him your family, too, whether you like it or not. I don't know who the hell I can trust anymore, Reggie, but I trust you._

Sirius, who was rotting in Azkaban for putting his faith in the wrong person, had come to me when there were so many other people he could have gone to in my stead. That was one thing we had in common, at least. I knew what it was like to trust the wrong people, and it had come back to bite me in the ass. Despite our differences, I couldn't betray my brother's confidences.

"Fine. I'll take him. For now," I conceded, grabbing the envelop and rifling through the papers. A birth certificate, what looked like some handwritten notes on parchment, and a small wad of Muggle money. Just what did he imagine I had planned? I wouldn't be needing that. "But only with the understanding that when you find a more suitable place, you'll come take him."

"Understood. If you should need anything, have Kreacher send an owl from a discreet location."

"Fine."

Dumbledore made his way to the door, but he paused with his hand on the knob. He turned back and said, "Stay safe, Regulus. A lot of people are counting on you."

With that, he stepped into the hall, and the door clicked shut behind him. Was his comment supposed to mean something? Like I gave a damn about any of those people.

I made my way back to the kitchen and rifled through the cabinets for that bottle of Firewhiskey I kept just in case. It was feeling like one of those nights. I finally found it pushed to the back of a side cabinet, and I took a swig of it.

"Kreacher!" I called, still trying to keep my voice down. A few seconds later, he appeared in front of me.

"Master needs something?"

"It seems our guest will be staying a while longer."

"Master means the filthy half-blood brat?"

"So it seems, though I suppose we'll have to stop referring to him as that. According to these papers," I flipped through the envelope and pulled out the birth certificate, "his name is Harry James Potter. He was born July 31, 1980, which makes him about a year and a half old." I shoved the paper back down with the others and held it out for Kreacher. "Here, take this and store it somewhere safe, somewhere no one save you will ever find it."

"Of course, Master." He took them with a small bob of his head to acknowledge the order and then Disapparated. I was alone again...sort of. But then, it'd be a while now before I was ever truly alone.

The sky outside the kitchen window was just beginning to transition to day. Much too early for any civilized person to be out of bed, so I slunk back to the couch. Each step reminded me just how tired I really was. It felt like heaven as I stretched out and closed my eyes. Just a few more hours.

Just when the stress had begun to drain from my body and I was sure I could relax enough to sleep, the baby began to stir next to me with the occasional grunt. A minute later, it had transformed into a full-lunged wail. There was no hope of going back to bed now.

With a groan, I slung my legs over the side of the couch. Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into.

 **...(X)...**

The first week passed in a sleep-deprived stupor. Even the most advanced potions were easier to decipher than what it meant when Harry cried, and nappies remained an enigma.

Thirty minutes ago, Harry had begun to pitch a fit. Again. I couldn't imagine what, at a year and a half, he had to cry about, but he managed. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what he wanted. His nappie and clothes were fresh. He had turned his nose up at the bottle and overturned a plate of food on a none-too-happy Kreacher, who had threatened to lock him in a cupboard if he couldn't behave.

"What's wrong with him?" I shouted over the noise. Wait, why was I shouting? This was ridiculous. I pulled my wand out and cast _silencio._ Silence. Beautiful, glorious silence. Even though Harry still squirmed in my arms, at least I couldn't hear him anymore.

Kreacher tugged at his long ears and shook his head. He'd been as patient as an old House-Elf could be expected to be, but I could tell that even his nerves were wearing thin. He scuttled over to the fridge, mumbling to himself, and pulled out a wet cloth that he had stuck in the freezer a while ago.

"Potter brat is getting more teeth," he said as he stuck the edge of the cloth in Harry's mouth. The baby fussed a few more times before settling down and sucking on it.

"You mean all that noise was just because he's teething?" With a sigh, I reversed the silencing charm. "Good thinking, Kreacher, but I'm not sure that will last long. Go fetch something meant for teething. If we're low on funds, take some from the vault in the manor."

"Of course, Master," he said and Disapparated with a _pop_.

Money was never something I had to worry about before. The Black fortune had always been available to me. On a whim, I could have anything I desired. Being in hiding, I've had to be careful how I use whatever assets are available to me. Since Father passed, it's been easier to siphon money from Mother's stores. As shrewd as she used to be, if she noticed, she never made mention of it in front of Kreacher. But how much longer could that possibly last? I needed a more sustainable form of income somehow.

I was disturbed from my thoughts by a knock on the door. I shifted Harry to the other hip and drew my wand as I approached, remaining as quiet as I could while I checked the peephole. The landlord was on the other side. He rarely visited, and I made sure Kreacher always took the rent to him so he wouldn't come for it, so I prepared myself for whatever bad news lay ahead.

"Mr. Ratcliffe," I said as I opened the door. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I've been getting some complaints lately about the noise from your apartment, Mr. Friedman." He paused and shifted his eyes to Harry briefly before continuing. "When I leased this place to you, I was under the impression that it would only be you living here."

"So was I," I muttered.

"I know that you can't help how loud babies are, but I made it clear when you moved in that residents here valued both privacy and quiet. I'm afraid if it keeps up, you'll have to find other living arrangements."

"Of course, sir. I understand."

Mr. Ratcliffe sighed, taking off his ratty cap just long enough to rub his balding head before putting it back on.

"I'm not heartless, and I'd never turn out a father and child, so if it comes to that, I'll help you find other living arrangements."

"Oh, I'm not his..." I started before thinking better of it. "I understand. Thank you for the generous offer, but I don't think that'll be necessary. I'll handle it."

"He sure is a happy baby," Mr. Ratcliffe said, poking a pudgy finger into Harry's stomach and earning himself a smile and a coo. Sure, happy now, but that half-hour meltdown was still fresh in my mind.

The smile faded from Mr. Ratcliffe's face as he leaned in closer.

"Huh. That mark on his forehead..."

"Took a tumble into the coffee table a few days ago. They're right dangerous when they start tottering around." I hastily pulled Harry against my chest to hide his face. "Not to be rude, but it's time for his nap, and I really should go."

"Yes...of course," Mr. Ratcliffe replied slowly, still looking at Harry as if there was a mystery there that needed to be solved.

I shut the door before he could think to say anything else, locked it, and put up extra wards just as a precaution. I carried Harry to the living room and set him on the floor as I plopped onto the couch. How could I have been so stupid? Every witch and wizard in Great Britain would be able to recognize Harry. There was nowhere I could bring him that was safe from the eyes of the public. What kind of life did that promise?

I was still on the couch mulling over our situation when Kreacher returned. There was no telling how long I'd been there, but Harry had been playing contentedly at my feet the whole time. I looked on as Kreacher handed him some new toys. The magical car that drove itself was immediately tossed aside in favor of the chew toy. He was a bit like a pet, only I didn't have the good fortune of being able to put him down when I grew weary of him.

"Maybe..." I said, to myself at first. "Maybe we should move."

"Move?" Kreacher asked. His skeptical expression perfectly matched my own doubts.

"You aren't going to like it any more than I do, Kreacher, but Harry has no place in Wizarding society yet. One day, after I've properly trained him in magic and the like, he'll make a proper wizard, I'm sure of it. However, until then..."

I couldn't bring myself to say it. I didn't want to say it, let alone even think it, but this was our only option. It would be for the best, for now at least, and it was only temporary.

"I need you to fetch me the envelope Dumbledore left, Kreacher. We're moving to an apartment in a Muggle city, so we'll need to start packing tomorrow."

"Master can't be serious! But living with Muggles would be—"

"I know, Kreacher. I know."

Horrible. Shameful. Disastrous. Any number of adjectives would suffice to describe the situation, but I could see no way around it.

"Your job is to make sure everything here is packed and ready to go. Tomorrow, I'll start searching for a place, and by next week, we should be ready to move."

Kreacher didn't argue, though he did pace around the apartment grumbling under his breath. He deserved that right, at least.

A new year was just around the corner, and with it would come many changes. I couldn't say I was particularly thrilled about it, but at the very least, Harry would be safe.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you everyone for the reviews so far! I'm actually really enjoying writing this so far, so I have decided to actually expand it past the original three chapters. Not sure how long each chapter will be, but I intend to do a chapter for each year. :) I hope you enjoy, and please review.


	3. 1982

**[1982]**

The new flat was a few blocks away from a park. I knew that because the landlord felt the need to remind me every few seconds as if it was a deciding factor. It wasn't, and I couldn't have cared less about an area where Muggles congregated, except perhaps to be sure to steer clear of it.

For the first time in my life, it had come down to money. I had no income, and there was no vault this time that I could leech savings from. There was no other choice but to make due with what I had.

So as the clock chimed midnight, we found ourselves crammed into the one-bedroom flat. It was disgraceful living quarters for a Black, but at least there were no nosy neighbors and no one around to recognize Harry. That was good enough—for now, at least.

"Happy New Year, Kreacher," I said as he shuffled past the couch, muttering under his breath.

He grunted at first and then elaborated, "What's there to be happy about?"

I couldn't blame him for his attitude. The move was hard on him, as well. More so, even, than for Harry and I. After all, the relocation meant that he had to be extra careful not to be seen. Then there was the restriction on magic. It was too easy to track, too easy to be found out, and therefore had to be kept at a minimum.

"We're alive, aren't we? Isn't that something to celebrate?"

"Yes, alive." He scoffed as he turned his back to me and walked towards the bedroom, though I could still hear him grumble, "Alive and living as Muggles."

He'd come around...eventually. But not without a fair amount of griping, if I had to venture a guess.

Beside me, Harry took uneven steps along the length of the couch. Keeping two fingers in his mouth, he used his free hand to reach for the book that was open in my lap, but I snatched it into the air before he managed to grab it.

"No, no, this is _my_ book. I fear you're a bit young for the Dark Arts. Go play with your own things."

I motioned to a stack of toys in the corner, and the green eyes glanced between the toys and I as if sizing us up, deciding which was more deserving of his attention. After a moment, he turned his back to me and toddled over to his cars and plopped down beside them.

I watched him for a moment, playing and laughing like he didn't have a care in the world. If he missed his parents at all, he didn't show it. Did he even notice they were gone? Would he remember them at all? He was better off that way, I supposed, with no real knowledge of what Voldemort had taken from him.

"Happy New Year, Harry," I said as I turned back to my book.

He laughed and said, "Vroom," as he hurled a car across the flat. I knew what he meant.

 **...(X)...**

The weather turned earlier than usual, but we remained holed up in the flat. There was nowhere really to go; everywhere we turned, there was nothing but Muggles. I had to remind myself that it was for the best, that we were safest here. As many times as I repeated it, it never made me feel any better.

But then the flowers started to bloom, and the once dreary world burst into color. It was no surprise to find Harry with his face pressed against the glass window, round eyes watching the world pass us by below.

"Play," he said without looking at me, poking his pudgy finger against the pane.

"We're not going outside to play, not with all those filthy Muggles about."

"Play!" He said it louder, as if that would convince me to change my mind, and banged his palms against the glass.

"You're a proper wizard, Harry, so act like it. We can go out after dark when they've all turned in."

"Wanna play!" Harry whined, emphasizing and drawing out each syllable.

Then all hell broke loose. His whine turned high-pitched as he threw himself on the floor. His arms and legs flailed loudly, and his face turned a bright crimson as he emitted a shrill wail that would have made any Fwooper jealous. And I didn't even have the benefit of a silencing charm.

Before I could decide how to handle the situation, Kreacher stepped out of the kitchen carrying a cup. Without a word, he walked over to the toddler and dumped the whole glass of water on his head.

Harry didn't seem to know how to react, but he stopped his tantrum, at the very least. His green eyes scoured the room for the source of the sudden wetness, but Kreacher had already returned to the kitchen as if nothing had happened, though I could hear him ranting quietly about bratty children.

It was hard to blame him for wanting out. We had all started to go a bit stir crazy, despite the stolen moments after dusk or before dawn when we'd wander to abandoned areas away from the Muggles. There were so damn many of them that it almost became a pastime just trying to avoid them. They were like a plague.

"Maybe we _should_ take a walk," I said to myself as I stared out the window. The sun was already rising over the small Muggle town, and with no clouds in the sky, it promised to be a nice day.

"But Master, the _Muggles_ ," Kreacher said as he handed Harry a bottle.

"I doubt there will be many Muggles about." It was early on a Monday morning, late enough to have missed the morning commuters but early enough to avoid the lunch crowd. "Besides, we can always just come home if there's too many people about."

"But where will Master go?"

"We'll go..." I hadn't actually given it any thought. I hadn't explored the town, so it wasn't like I really knew what was available. Though, there _was_ one area, at least, that I was aware of. "We'll go to the park."

I acted confident in my decision as I piled Harry's things into a sack and dressed him to go out when in reality I was anything but. This would be the first time I took Harry out on my own. Kreacher couldn't come, of course. To make matters worse, I'd be at the mercy of the Muggles, and I'd heard enough stories about their ignorance and naivety—neither of which was a trait that was easily forgiven.

"Are you sure about this, Master?" Kreacher asked as I made my way to the door with Harry in tow. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Being left behind, for him, was just as nerve-wracking as leaving was for me.

"Of course I'm sure."

I shot him a reassuring grin, but I don't think he was convinced. He was probably thinking how far the Blacks had fallen—one son locked in Azkaban, one son living among Muggles. Thank Merlin Father was already dead, because the thought alone would have been enough to drive him into an early grave.

"We'll be back before you know it," I said as I closed the door, but he had already Apparated away to do whatever it was he did when we were gone. I had decided long ago that it was probably best that I not ask. I figured even House-Elves needed some amount of personal space.

There was no one in the stairwell and no one hanging around outside the buildings. So far so good. The air had a bit of a nip to it still, but the sun was warm and the air smelled fresh, and Harry already seemed to be in a better mood. He was clapping and cooing as I carried him, pointing at random things over my shoulder.

The walk to the park was short, and thankfully, there was no one in sight. It was a square grassy area with a sandbox in one corner and a worn-down swing set that I wouldn't even trust my worst enemy to use. Even calling it a park in the first place was generous, but Harry was squirming to be put down, and we were already there, after all. Might as well make the best of it. So I turned him loose and took a seat on the lone bench by the sandbox.

He tottered around, oblivious to the world, chasing one bug after another like they were amazing creatures that ought to be captured and studied. He seemed happy, though for the life of me I couldn't imagine how. In the past three years, my life had, almost literally, come to an end, but in that same time his was just beginning. Yet, after everything he'd been through, he came out the other side unharmed, save for a single lightning bolt scar. He was much more resilient than I was.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

I started at the sudden voice, and it took all my restraint not to draw my wand simply out of habit. I hadn't heard anyone approach—I was getting careless and would have to remedy that—but I looked up into light gray eyes embedded in an old, smiling face.

"Sorry if I startled you, dear. I didn't want to bother you. It's just that this is the only bench, and my old bones aren't quite what they used to be."

 _No_ , I wanted to shout. _No, no, no!_ But she was right; she was old, even for wizard standards, and she looked worn out. She smiled like she didn't have a care in the world, laugh lines accentuating her face, but the perm was falling out of her gray-and-white mottled hair and her clothes looked a bit ratty. It didn't look like she had much going for her as it was. The least I could do was let her sit, I supposed.

"Of course," I said, instead of all the other responses that came to mind. I scooted to the very edge of the bench, as far away from her as I could possibly get.

The three girls with her had already run off to frolic in the grass. Merlin, how could I not have heard their big mouths? They were a couple years older than Harry, but they swarmed him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. He looked duly terrified, and I could hardly blame him.

"You don't get out much, do you?" the woman asked as she lowered herself onto the bench with a grunt.

"Hm?"

So she was a talker. Just great. I'd have to find a way to excuse myself so I could rescue poor Harry from the Muggle girls and we could be on our way. Maybe Kreacher was right. Maybe we should've stayed home after all.

"Just a guess. Your son is awful shy, but not to worry. My girls have a way of getting people to warm up to them, bless their hearts."

"He's not my son," I said out of force of habit and then instantly regretted it. Why was I engaging her? A conversation was the last thing I wanted.

"Just his guardian, then? Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all." She paused, folding her hands in her lap as she watched the children play. "The girls aren't my children, either. Goodness no, I'm far too old for that. They're my granddaughters. But I'm all they've got, and that's what really matters."

One of the girls shrieked, and I couldn't help but smile at the triumphant look on Harry's face as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and gave it a yank. The other girls were laughing at their sister's misfortune, which caused Harry to break out in a giggling fit, too. For whatever reason, he seemed incapable of laughing without failing his arms, so the more Harry laughed, the harder he pulled. I couldn't decide which of them was simpler, the baby or the Muggle girl who was foolish enough to get caught.

"Mindy, dear, if you don't want him pulling your hair, don't get close enough for him to pull it," the grandmother scolded. "He's just a baby, but you're a big girl."

The girl managed to wrest her hair free, and she ran off laughing with her sisters chasing her. Harry remained sitting on the ground for a few moments as if he was deciding what to do. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and half-stumbled, half-ran after them. When they realized they had a tag-along, they slowed their pace so he stood a fighting chance of catching them.

I had to admit, they weren't at all what I was expecting of Muggles from the stories I grew up with. They welcomed Harry into the fold and treated him almost like a little brother. They were patient when Harry was slow and encouraging when he hit his stride just right. Everything older siblings should be; everything my own brother had once been. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if they were so accepting because they thought he was the same as them. Would they be so understanding if they knew that he was a wizard?

"Look at that." The voice startled me out of my thoughts, and I glanced sideways at the old woman only to find that she was studying the children with a smile on her face. But it was different somehow from when she first arrived. It was almost sad. "Didn't I tell you? He's come right out of his shell."

"Yes, you're right."

 _I should leave._ The thought kept nagging at me like a parasite, gnawing away at the back of my mind. The indignity of it. I was so much better than this town and these people and this park. I was a Black, for Merlin's sake! But...I was a Black with no home in the wizarding world, no money to my name, no family to speak of. Besides, Harry was playing in a way that I'd never seen before. So, I stayed.

A few minutes passed in silence, and then the woman started suddenly and turned to face me.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me. I don't believe I've introduced myself. I'm Margaret Latche, but you can call me Viv."

"Viv?" I asked, trying to work out how Margaret becomes Viv. I knew Muggle names were often weird and eccentric, but if there was a correlation there, I couldn't find it.

"It's short for Vivian. Margaret Vivian Latche, that's my full name, but Margaret is such a stuffy name. I always thought Vivian suited me much better."

"Oh. I'm Reginald Friedman."

Sirius had thought of the alias when I first decided to rent a flat in the wizarding world, where my name would be too easily recognizable. It sounded stupid to me, but I didn't have his imagination, nor his experience with half-bloods and Muggles.

"Reginald? What an interesting name."

"I come from an interesting family."

"Do you go by Reg? Or Reggie, maybe? I rather like Reggie. I think it suits you."

"Reg is fine, I guess. Only my brother calls me Reggie."

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Reg."

She extended her hand, but I hesitated. I didn't actually want to _touch_ her, but I couldn't be rude, either, could I?

"Likewise," I said, trying my hardest not to look disgusted as I shook her hand. I must have pulled it off, because she didn't seem offended.

"We should get going," I said as I stood, for my sake just as much as for hers. She didn't seem anything at all like the Muggles in Mother and Father's stories, and I wasn't sure how to handle it. I couldn't trust her. Of course not. Sure, she seemed nice at first, but if she were ever to find out—the minute she found out—she would turn on us. That's what Muggles did. That's why there was a statute in the first place.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, and she genuinely sounded disappointed. That wasn't my problem. "Do take care of yourself."

"Harry! It's time to go."

He stopped running as soon as I called his name, looking between the girls and I. He was torn between two worlds, too young still to understand his proper place and where he belonged. He came racing up to me anyway, calling a hasty, "Bye," over his shoulder at the girls.

We were just about to leave when the Muggle woman called, "Oh, Reg?"

"Hm?" I pulled Harry's hand to signal for him to stop as I turned back around.

"I live right down the road from here in the old McGregor building. You know, the one they converted into flats?"

"I'm not from around here."

"Well, it's a big, red complex. Can't miss it. The McGregor sign's still out front. We're in flat ten. The girls don't start school until next year, so we're usually around. You know, just in case you and that boy of yours ever need anything."

"Uh, sure."

I ushered Harry back towards the flat, pulling him along when he got distracted by something, which was every five steps or so. I understood. Outside was a whole new adventure to him, especially in the daytime like this, but I just wanted to get home.

We passed a middle-aged man as we entered the building. He started to say hi, but I hustled along before he could get the words out, lifting Harry into my arms as I entered the stairwell. I'd had more than my share of Muggles as it was, and I had no intention of getting dragged into another conversation with one.

Before I even opened the door to the flat, I knew Kreacher already had lunch going. The aroma wafted straight into the hall, even though I didn't recognize the smell, and my stomach grumbled in response. I'd been in such a rush to leave that I'd completely forgotten breakfast.

"I'm back," I called as I stepped inside, locking the door behind me.

Kreacher stepped out of the kitchen, regarded us up and down, and grunted.

"Master smells like Muggles," he muttered as he returned to his cooking.

 **...(X)...**

"Do you...do you think he sounds funny?"

I studied Harry, but he looked the same as always. He'd been crying on and off all day for absolutely no reason, but this time it sounded different. It was almost like he was hoarse. Could babies lose their voices from crying too much? Probably not. I couldn't be so fortunate.

With a sigh, making it all too clear that it was an inconvenience, Kreacher picked Harry up and started turning him every which way. Harry sure wasn't happy about it, and I couldn't imagine it helped him figure out what was wrong. Then again, he knew more about children than I did, having helped raise two already.

"Potter brat has a cold," he declared, setting Harry back down and going on his way like it was nothing.

"What kind of cold?"

His cheeks _were_ an awfully bright red, upon closer inspection, and his normally bright eyes looked glassy.

"Kreacher does not know. Probably sick from Muggle filth," came the answer from the bedroom.

A Muggle illness? It seemed likely. That meant there was probably no potion to cure it, not that I had the ingredients to make one even if I wanted to.

"What do Muggles do when they get sick?" I wondered aloud. I had no clue, and there wasn't anyone I could ask.

"They die," Kreacher answered. Then, softer, he added, "Stupid creatures."

"I suppose I'll just have to watch him," I said to no one in particular.

Still sobbing pitifully, Harry pulled himself to his feet and stumbled over to me, holding his arms out insistently. That's just what I needed—a crying, snotty child on my lap. But he was persistent, and by the time he started trying to climb up himself, I pulled him onto my knees.

"Kreacher, does Mother still have that old book of bedtime stories? I need you to fetch it for me."

He didn't answer, but I heard the _pop_ as he Apparated. A few minutes later, he reappeared in front of the couch and handed an old, dusty tome to me. With a sleeve, I wiped off the layer of grime enough so the gold lettering could be seen. Harry immediately went to grab it, but I held it out of his reach. He started to fuss and whine as he tried to squirm his way closer to it.

"Listen, Harry, because I have a few rules. First, I won't read while you're crying. It's a waste of both of our time. So if you want a story, you'll have to sit still and behave."

It took a few minutes, but he managed to stifle his tantrum to the occasional sniffle and whine, but he pouted, bottom lip jutting out, the whole time.

"Good. Rule two is you don't touch. This has miraculously survived both Sirius and I as it is. I don't want your drool and boogers all over it, so your hands need to stay in your lap as I read."

I tried to lower the book, but as soon as it was within range, he reached for it. A few more attempts, and he quelled the urge, wiggling impatiently as I opened it. I skimmed through the stories until I came to one particular one.

"Ah, here it is. This was my favorite when I was little. There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight..."

 **...(X)...**

I woke with the vague notion that I had been sleeping, even though it felt like I had just laid down. I wasn't even sure what had woken me. Kreacher was nowhere in sight, no doubt returning to his cupboard in the manor to sleep.

I stumbled to my feet still trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. Harry was in his crib sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with each respiration. The living room was empty, save for a few lurking shadows made by light filtering through the blinds, and the wards were all undisturbed. Must have imagined it.

I returned to bed with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach like there was something I should know but didn't. I had been dreaming, I think, though I couldn't remember what about. Maybe that was it.

I stretched out in bed, but before I could fall asleep I heard barking. It was an odd sound, unlike any dog I had ever heard. By the time it turned into a long, wheezing inhale, I realized it was coming from the crib. Everything was still for a few minutes as I watched Harry sleep, but before long he had another coughing fit. Only, it sounded more like a bark than a cough. Something was wrong. I had no idea what, and I didn't know much about babies, but this definitely wasn't normal.

Harry was sick. That much was obvious. Now what? A Muggle doctor was out of the question, but so was a Healer. What options did that leave me with?

It had been a month since we had been to the park, and I didn't know what made me think of the old lady, but I did. Even if she was a Muggle, she was practically the only person I knew in this town. Besides, she _had_ offered to help if we needed it. But...would I really stoop so low as to accept help from a Muggle, of all people?

Harry answered for me as he coughed again. He really sounded horrible. In the end, I had no choice. This was way over my head, and if I didn't so _something_ then who knew what would happen.

I didn't even bother changing his clothes, just threw him in a blanket, wrapped it tightly, and slipped my coat and shoes on. The streets were deserted this late at night. I hadn't even thought to look at the time. The Muggle would be home, but would she answer the door to a stranger in the early hours of morning?

The old McGregor building was easy enough to find. It was only two blocks over—a giant, looming shadow with peeling red paint. The sign was swaying slightly, causing its hinges to bang. I almost didn't recognize it, as worn as it was. Half the letters were missing so that what it actually said was 'M reg or'. I couldn't even begin to guess what the building had been in its past life.

I pushed through the doors into the empty entryway and wandered the first floor until I found flat ten. I stood there just staring at the door with Harry's head resting on my shoulder as he snored into my ear.

Was I really about to do this? Yes, I was. I had to. I raised my fist to knock, but stopped with it just before the door. Did I really have no other choice but to beg a Muggle for help? Was this how far I'd fallen?

I shoved the doubts to the back of my mind. I could worry about all of it later, after Harry was feeling better. Despite my reservations, I knocked a pattern on the door and waited for any signs that someone was in the apartment. I wasn't disappointed. After a minute, there was scuffling, and then the door swung open to the end of the chain and a gray-haired head appeared.

"Oh, Reg!" The door closed and there was the click of the chain being slid before it swung back open. "Please, come in, come in. You look exhausted. Has something happened?"

"It's Harry. He—"

My explanation was cut off by a few sharp barks, and Harry squirmed uncomfortably before settling back down to sleep.

"Oh dear, sounds like he's got croup."

"What's that?"

"An infection of the upper airway," she answered while she closed the door and did up the chain. As if that explained everything. I still had no idea what she was talking about, and Muggles had the most ridiculous names for illnesses.

She turned around and immediately started laughing—a light, airy sort of a thing. What the hell was so funny about this situation? For all I knew, Harry could be dying. Then what?

"First time he's gotten sick on you, isn't it? Oh my, it's written all over your face." She chuckled again, but this time she at least had the decency to cover her mouth and try to compose herself. "I'm sorry, it isn't funny except that I've been through this time and time again. It'll be a long night—more so for you than for him—but he'll be just fine. Harry, you said, yes?"

I nodded, and she reached out and took him. Harry grunted a little, but he didn't wake up.

"Don't fret. I'll show you what to do for tonight. Follow me." She led the way around the corner and to a small bathroom, where she started unwrapping the blanket around Harry. "Close the door, will you?"

I did as instructed, and she turned on the hot water in the shower.

"Do this any time he starts having trouble breathing. The steam will help open up his airways and let him breathe easier. Are you giving him milk?"

"Well...yeah."

"No more milk for the next week or two. Give him water or the occasional juice."

The room was starting to fill with steam already, and I was growing uncomfortable in my coat. But the Muggle woman sat there on the cold, hard floor with Harry sleeping in her arms like it was nothing. She never once complained that I had woken her, even though I clearly had. If Harry stirred, she shushed him, and the one time he woke, she rocked him back to sleep with a level of patience I had never witnessed before.

By the time we returned to the living room about fifteen minutes later, Harry was breathing easier in my arms.

"He might still have problems later on," the old lady warned, "but at least now you'll know how to handle it. If it gets worse, take him to the doctor, but honestly, there's not much they can do. It's a virus, which means antibiotics won't touch it. Just make sure you sleep by him at night so you can watch in case he has trouble."

"I...I don't know...how..."

The words were there. They were simple enough. _Thank you_. How hard was that? But to a _Muggle_? And now I was indebted to her and would have to find some way to make up for the help she'd given me.

"Don't worry about it. I suppose you've probably only recently come to raise him, hm?"

I didn't have to answer that. She may have helped me, but I had no intention of spilling my life's history because of it.

"No, it's okay, you don't have to say if you don't want to," she continued as if she knew what I was thinking. "It's hard at first, I know. It's been a little over two years now since my daughter was killed by a drunk driver. I found myself with not one but three small children. They're triplets, you know, but they're all so different. This isn't my first time raising children, but still I struggled."

"It's been..." I started, but I had to stop to do the math. How long _had_ it been? Forever it seemed, but that wasn't accurate. "It's been about six months since his parents died."

"It gets easier with time. I promise." She smiled, and her gray eyes flashed with a fire that reminded me of another pair of gray eyes. I could still hear his words echoing in my mind. _I trust you._ Even after everything, even when he didn't know who he could trust, he still said that.

"But my door's always open if you find you need some help," she said as she held the door open. "I may not know you, Reg, but I've got a good eye for people. It comes with age." She winked before continuing, "You can do this. I know you've got it in you."

"I'll let you get back to sleep now," I said as I stepped into the hallway. I was going to leave it at that, I had every intention of it, but I knew there was more that should be said—more that _had_ to be said. "And...thank you."

I didn't wait for an answer, just headed down the hall and back out into the crisp night air.

She wasn't bad, I decided, for a Muggle. Surely there had to be at least one or two exceptions to the rule. What was it she had said her name was again? Ah yes, Vivian. I supposed I should remember that from now on.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm so surprised at the support this has gotten so far, and I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to read this thus far, especially everyone who took the time to leave a review. :) Your words are what make me want to keep writing and keep improving.


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